Nothing compares to it really as
we toss and turn in our sleep at
night and pray for deliverance
We’re stuck in our bodies whether
we like it or not we twist our
souls in our sheets trying
to survive it.
Yet dissolving slowly like all our
past lives lived and counted out
or taken down by disease, there’s
no escaping hell.
Except for those who have found
their god on earth and heaven
above, but could they be wrong?
With this sweet song of repentance
love and forgiveness for all who confess
on bended knee to make it through the
eye of that needle. I toss even more in
my bed with questions.
I’ve rubbed myself up against so
many hard days from my past
and they are not comforting bed
fellows. No escaping them I am
stuck in my body not yet shed
simply dissolving, dissolving like
a rancid pool of dripping sewer
water thrown out with the waste.
Picking my coffin when the time
is ripe, the salesman will laugh
when I ask him to let me try it
out for size and then inform him
that the cardboard box will be
just fine as it burns for a third
of the cost of mahogany fine.
I don’t share my hell with anyone
but myself as there’s no hell like
our very own.
In the meanwhile I will continue
to wash under my armpits, pluck
the feathers from my belly button
and accept life for what it is a
box of chocolates, never
knowing what you’re going
Let the seasons change
and October blow at our trees
limbs and shake their crusted
leaves to the ground for us to
walk and crunch their sounds
from selfish colors they fade
and leave behind.
Strange things are happening in
our world and cities as our blood
keeps pumping from our heart
and channeling and lubricating
I crunch up my pillow under my
sleepy head and turn over to stare
at my ceiling and watch the fan
above squeak and churn while
the sun attempts to creep through
my verticals. Damn it’s just another
moody Manitoba morning and I
crossed the finish line.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2012. All Rights Reserved.